


Old Wounds

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Prompt Fill, Self-Harm, Shame, Tumblr: kyluxhardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: Fill for this KHK prompt: Modern AU. Hux and Kylo have been going out for a while. They like each other a lot, but neither is as open about themselves as they could be. They have fooled around in the dark a few times; they’ve never seen the other naked. When they finally have the time (and the mood), they fall into bed. Clearly, Hux hasn’t been honest about his past, as his skin is littered in scars. All out of sight. Thighs, stomach, chest. All self-inflicted. Thankfully, all healed and shiny. Some pink, some white.





	Old Wounds

They’re finally alone in private, both naked on Kylo’s decadently large bed. The light is low but this is the best they’ve ever been able to see one another. Hux is currently fascinated by the play of shadows on the muscles of Kylo’s chest and abdomen.  
         “Hux,” Kylo says, and the word sounds like a warning instead of a name.  
         “What?”  
         “Your. Your skin.” Kylo’s hand has halted in its trajectory from knee to groin. They’ve never had time for these lingering, exploratory touches until now. And Hux ought to have considered the danger inherent in tonight’s opportunity. Instead he’d just been thrilled by the promise of properly admiring Kylo’s body and having those large hands all over his.  
         But fuck. It’s not that he’s forgotten. It’s that—what is it, actually? He’d put it out of his mind temporarily, hoping Kylo would do the same. Disregard it, ignore the conversation at least until they were done here. Was that so much to ask?  
         Finally he meets Kylo’s eyes. “Yes.”  
         Timidly, Kylo runs a pair of fingertips across Hux’s right inner thigh. He’s left-handed, so his right side is where most of the marks are. “Did you do all this?”  
         “I did.” And now he’s bracing himself for that horrible question he can never answer properly. _Why?_ He’s ready to lash out, to push Kylo back and away as far as possible. _Because I was miserable, why the fuck else?_  
         “Show me everything,” Kylo says instead in an awfully soft voice. “You don’t need to hide from me.”  
         Hux’s defences—or offences, really—melt. He stands up from the bed and Kylo moves to sit on the edge. Hux turns his feet out to display his thighs. He rotates his shoulders forward to show his deltoids. Finally he bends down to pull off his socks which hide some of the worst damage. The cuts to his upper legs and arms had been more dramatic at the time of injury (all that blood), but the burns had hurt more and healed poorly. He’d reserved the misuse of cigarettes for particularly atrocious days.  
         “Oh,” Kylo whispers. “Tell me about each type.”  
         Hux has never had anyone note the variety of his scars, much less inquire about it. He swallows heavily and taps a thin line on his thigh. “This is where I started. Pen knife. Age ten. My mother dropped me off at my father’s house and I never saw her again.”  
         Kylo places his right palm over the area, covering the vast majority of the scars with his large hand. Slowly, Hux takes hold of his thumb and moves both their hands together. He feels Kylo’s body heat against his abdomen.  
         “Straight razor. Age thirteen. Puberty hit hard and I was gay as hell. Also _going_ to Hell.” Continuing the tour, he guides Kylo’s hand to his right deltoid. Three thick, raised white stripes curl around the humble muscle. “Leather horse whip. Age fifteen. No real reason, just wanted to hurt on the outside like I did inside.” He lifts a foot and rests it on Kylo’s thigh. “Started smoking at sixteen. This followed rather naturally. Only for special occasions, though, because cigarette burns sting like a bitch for weeks.” He sighs. “This one came first. The night of my first breakup. He called me ‘heartless’ and ‘uncaring.’ He was so _wrong_. I just… didn’t know how to show any of what I felt.” He bites down on his lower lip.  
         Kylo speaks for the first time during the tour. “You kept it inside until you couldn’t hold it down anymore. But you only broke down in private, only injured yourself.”  
         “Yes. I’ve learned better. At least I don’t do this shit anymore.” No, he’s moved on to less unhealthy coping mechanisms: sarcasm, overexerting himself at work, and generous amounts of sex.  
         “I admire your restraint. Then and now.”  
         Hux blinks, stunned. But Kylo continues, explaining how he’d always had trouble with rage, that he’d melt down and break the nearest vulnerable object. Glassware, electronics, noses. And Hux comes to appreciate that he wasn’t the only one holding back his history, hiding his mental damage. Not the only one to require and postpone therapy for years. Avoiding conversations like these with the people who ought to be informed. But before he can spiral fully into self-recrimination, Kylo is leaning down to plant kisses over the scars on his belly and thighs. It’s purely sweet at first, but soon Kylo’s tongue darts out to trace the seam of the longest cut. “Fuck, Kylo,” he whispers. In disbelief, he asks, “You don’t find all of this… off-putting?”  
         “Not at all. It’s kind of hot, the evidence of what you’ve been through and survived.” He nips at the sensitive skin between two marks. Hux remembers: his father coolly suggesting conversion therapy and the shame after blowing the captain of the high school rugby team.  
         He fists his fingers in Kylo’s long hair, silently begging the man to move his lips to where he so obviously needs them. But Kylo just laughs into his navel. Hux gives in and begs, “Please. Kylo.”  
         “What do you need?” the monster teases, looking up at him with wide, falsely innocent eyes.  
         “Suck me off, for the love of God.”  
         A wicked grin follows, but Hux doesn’t have much opportunity to admire it before Kylo mercifully follows his instructions. Just when he’s on the verge of coming in Kylo’s mouth, he pushes the man backward onto the bed.  
         “Um,” Hux begins, sounding nearly as awkward as he feels. For illustration he scoops the condom packet off the unoccupied pillow and holds it up. “I’m clean. I can show you my last results. Haven’t been with anyone but you since.”  
         Kylo nods seriously, the picture of maturity. “Same.” They grab at their phones, punch up screenshots of their STI panels, and turn the screens toward each other.  
         Reaching out for the lube on the nightstand, Hux pumps some into his palm. Kylo massages Hux’s muscles above the bony knees on either side of his chest while the redhead preps. His eyes don’t leave Hux’s face for an instant.  
         Sinking down, Hux takes his time the way he should have before. But they’d always been in semi-public (the men’s room at the gay bar where they first met, then Hux’s car, then against the wall behind Kylo’s restaurant). It’s never been like this. It feels like a first time.  
         “Fuck, look at you,” Kylo enthuses. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever fucked.”  
         Hux feels his jaw drop, his mouth hang open. “Really? Even—”  
         “Yes, Hux. Like I said, you look like a bad-ass.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry for ever thinking you were just some pretty twink,” Kylo murmurs. “I never guessed you’d been through much. So I didn’t want to bitch about my own shit.”  
         “Shut up, Kylo,” Hux says more gently than he intends to. “Just shut up and fuck me.”


End file.
